


The Future Looks Good

by wordsinpaper



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Queliot Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinpaper/pseuds/wordsinpaper
Summary: “No way.”“What do you mean, no way? I already sent a message to the family group chat saying you’re coming.”“Eliot!”“They weren’t taking me seriously. I had to bring someone they could actually see and touch and breathe in so they believe I have a real boyfriend and not just a random blow up doll I use to pretend there’s someone else in the house with me.”Quentin stutters for a second, struggling to choose which part of all of that to unpack first.





	The Future Looks Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Day 1 of [Queliot Week 2019](https://queliotweek.tumblr.com/). The prompt was "Fake Dating/Marriage", so here we are.  
> I wrote most of this in one go at 2 am, so if it makes absolute no sense, that's why. As always, all mistakes are mine and I appreciate it when people point them out so I can fix it and make it all better!

“No way.”

“What do you mean,  _ no way _ ? I already sent a message to the family group chat saying you’re coming.”

Quentin turns around at that and, sure enough, Eliot is waving his phone at him.

“Eliot!”

He shrugs and puts it back in his pocket.

“They weren’t taking me seriously. I had to bring someone they could actually see and touch and breathe in so they believe I have a real boyfriend and not just a random blow up doll I use to pretend there’s someone else in the house with me.”

Quentin stutters for a second, struggling to choose which part of all of that to unpack first.

“Okay, first of all, I really do hope they won’t just start groping me randomly.”

Eliot waves his concern away.

“They know better than to put their hands on you. As my boyfriend, you're off limits. I mean, they may hug you, maybe grab you by the shoulders, give you a shake or two and ask what’s wrong with you for putting up with me, but I don't think they’d go past that.”

Quentin blinks.

“Yeah, we’re gonna move swiftly past that. Why do you even  _ need _ a boyfriend? Why do you need that sort of validation from your family -- which, really, is a whole other can of worms -- when you’re already such an outstanding person who’s achieved so much through work and dedication? And you’ve also learned from your mistakes, which says a lot about your personal development.”

Eliot takes two sudden large steps towards him, finger pointing out, a crazed look on his face.

“See?  _ That  _ right there is why I chose you. You’re already being a great supportive boyfriend.”

Quentin rolls his eyes and walks past him and out the door. He can hear Eliot scrambling to follow him. Not like he has to quicken his pace when his long strides take him to Quentin’s side in just seconds.

“Okay, okay,” he says and grabs Quentin’s arm. “Q, wait. Listen.”

He acquiesces and stops. Eliot’s hands circle his wrists.

“You know how my dad … was. Now that he’s not in the picture anymore, my family is trying to be all  _ normal _ and  _ accepting _ . They want to gush over me the way they would if any other son or daughter brought home a significant other. I know that sounds stupid, and I know I don’t  _ need _ that, and I could easily just tell them I’m way too much of a free spirit to be bound by such antiquated notions of commitment--”

Quentin rolls his eyes and tries to pull away from Eliot’s grip. He tightens it in response.

“No, no, wait. Don’t give up on me now. What I mean is that I like it. I like that healthy attention I’ve been getting from them these past few months, and I want to make the most of it before they change their minds again.”

Quentin looks up at that, but Eliot looks away and loosens his grip on Quentin’s wrists. He lets out a sad sigh.

“El, they love you. They’re not like your dad. From what you’ve told me of them and the changes in your relationship, they seem to genuinely want to be a part of your life. They’re not gonna change their mind about this.”

He pulls his wrists from Eliot’s fingers only to grab onto his hands instead.

“I just… I don’t want to ruin it by lying to them about this whole thing. They’ll hate me if they find out later down the line, and they’ll feel hurt by it and by you. I could just come with you as your friend from school. You don’t need to bring home a boyfriend for them to be all over you.”

Eliot bites his lip but doesn’t say anything for a few long minutes.

“I don’t want them to think I’m the sort of man my dad always said I would be. That I’d just lust after guys and get drunk at parties and eventually get so messed up in all of it, I would never be able to turn it around.”

Quentin squeezes Eliot’s hands and then lets them go. One of his hands find its way to Eliot’s cheek, angling his head so he can meet his eyes.

“You’re so much more than that, Eliot. Yeah, you’ve been through a lot, and you’ve messed up like pretty much any of us do on a daily basis, really, but you did turn it around. You’re better now, aren’t you? You’re happier, too, I hope?”

His eyes sparkle and Quentin’s stomach curls into itself a little. And it’s fine. It’s totally okay. He’s not having feelings. No. Not anything more than the usual flip flops his heart goes through when he inexplicably finds himself in these soft moments with Eliot.

Eliot chuckles, closes his eyes briefly and rubs his cheek against Quentin’s hand that’s still resting against his face. He pulls his hand back when Eliot stops and feels his cheeks growing hotter by the second.

“Shit,” Eliot lets out on a shaky exhale.

Maybe Quentin freaks out just a little bit. Was he that obvious?

“What?”

Eliot chuckles again, arm curling around Quentin’s waist, but not really moving their bodies closer.

“You’re so good at this that, if I didn’t know any better, even I would start believing it.”

Quentin gulps.

“Yeah… Save that for when I inevitably mess up and then return home feeling completely consumed by guilt for having tricked a bunch of lovely people.”

Now Eliot tugs him closer.

“Hey. If… I’ll call them right now if you’re truly not comfortable with any of this. I don’t want you to think I’m being inconsiderate of your feelings here.”

Oh, if only you knew, El…

Quentin shakes his head, hair flopping a bit. He tugs it behind his ear, hand accidentally brushing against Eliot’s arm, which is still curled around his body. His hand trembles. He’s  _ doomed _ .

He laughs.

“I won’t say I’m super comfortable with this whole deceit plan, but I think I can manage a weekend away in Indiana.”

At that, Eliot’s shoulders drop, the air in his lungs leaves his body and he pulls away.

“Ugh, why did you have to remind me of that particular detail?”

“I love that we are now referring to a whole state as a  _ detail _ .”

Eliot side-eyes him and moves to exit the room.

“I think I’m just gonna text my mom and tell her I broke up with you and can’t go anymore.”

Quentin smiles and follows him down the stairs and out of the cottage.

“Aw, come on. Our love was written in the stars! You can’t just quit now.”

Eliot flips him off and Quentin’s laugh echoes in the house before the door closes behind them.

\---

Eliot parks the car and looks at the house. Dread is spreading through his body and his hands grip the steering wheel so hard he can see his fingers turn white. He sees his brother’s car parked outside, next to his mother’s and his brother-in-law’s.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Quentin’s hand lands softly on his knee, which makes his friend immediately pull it back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I said your name like five times and you didn’t seem to hear me, which was freaking me out a little bit. Are you okay? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The way he says it makes Eliot think of another conversation, a long while back.

“Things don’t usually get to me like this.”

“Clearly, this is an exception.”

He finally meets Quentin’s eyes. He’s  _ terrified _ . Sure, he’s been talking to his family for a few months, re-establishing those connections that he thought were long gone as a consequence of his father’s poison, but they hadn’t been face-to-face in years. Maybe he should have done this alone before bringing along a boyfriend. A  _ fake _ one at that.

Quentin frowns and places his hand on Eliot’s elbow, pulling on it and encouraging his hands to let go of their death grip on the steering wheel.

“This is important to you,” Quentin states simply.

Eliot lets go of the steering wheel and rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs.

“El, you’re scaring me.”

He reaches out blindly and holds on tight once his hand finds Quentin’s.

“It’s a lot.”

“Ok.” His other hand falls on top of Eliot’s, trapping it between Quentin’s hands as he rubs it slowly. He’s not sure if Quentin is trying to calm Eliot or himself.

“You’re not alone, ok? I’m here. I mean, it’s still a bit weird and scary, because even if I’m not really dating you, I kind of want to leave a good impression, you know?”

And what a joke that is. Could this adorable dork leave anything other than a good impression on his family?

“Q, that should be the least of your worries. They’ll love you as much as I do. I have no doubt about it.”

So what if there’s a little more truth to that than he intended? And he definitely won’t read too much into how Quentin runs his hand through his hair and looks away, his cheeks slowly filling in with a rosy color, almost like a watercolor painting.

He’s not blind. He’s just not ready to mess up the one good thing in his life by biting off more than he can chew. He’ll ruin them like he ruins everything else.

Eliot is about to pull away when Quentin freezes beside him.

“Are those…?”

He leaves it hanging, but Eliot gets it. He looks through the windshield and sees his mother on the porch, big watery eyes and trembling smile. He knows she’s doing her damned best not to break before Eliot has even stepped out of the car.

It jolts something in him, deep down, where he thought he’d never feel anything ever again.

His eyes flick towards Quentin, but the other man is already unbuckling Eliot’s seatbelt and reaching past him to open the door.

“Go. I’ll get our things from the trunk.”

He gives him a small thankful smile before exiting the car and closing the door. His hands shake and he takes a deep breath to help steady him. He walks towards the stairs, but his mother is already running down to meet him in a crushing hug.

“I’m so sorry, son,” she cries against his chest. “I never should have…”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, hand cradling the back of her head. He buries his face between her shoulder and neck and holds on just as tight.

“Eliot!” he hears and looks up to see his older sister’s big smile.

He pulls back from his mother, who looks down and rushes to clean her tears. His sister’s husband appears beside her, arm immediately falling around her waist.

Eliot looks down at her round belly and his chest constricts a little more. He lets out a sob before he can stop it and it sets off a chain of ugly crying from everyone. He hugs his sister for a long moment before pulling back and rubbing her stomach.

“It’s a girl,” she says. And he tears up some more at that, not really understanding why his feelings are pouring out of him like this.

He’s pulled out of this little bubble with his family by the echoing sound of Quentin closing the trunk.

He looks over, as does everyone else, and sees the fumbling mess that is an embarrassed Quentin Coldwater.

“Sorry,” he squeaks. “I didn’t mean for it to be this loud.”

His mother looks back at him for a second, a proud smile on her face.

_ I told you you’d have them feeding off your hand in no time, Coldwater. _

He walks back down the steps to help Quentin out with their things.

“You good?” Quentin whispers when he gets close enough to take one of the bags from him. His heart grows two sizes in his chest.

He reaches out and quickly squeezes Quentin’s now empty hand.

“I’m great,” he says with a big grin.

\---

Introductions had been made. Quentin was first introduced to Eliot’s mother, sister and brother-in-law. Eliot’s younger brother was found in the kitchen, cooking their family meal with the help of his girlfriend.

“They’ve been together forever and my mom keeps pushing them to get married. She hopes they’ll at least make it to the engaged stage by Christmas,” Eliot confided once everyone started moving towards the dining room.

It’s a whole new experience for him. And a whole other side of Eliot he gets to see. He’s more subdued, but he’s also smiling a lot more. Every once in a while his eyes will meet Quentin’s and he will feel his heart do things he’s sure science couldn’t begin to explain.

He’s also seen the assessing looks thrown his way all throughout dinner. They keep Quentin on the edge of his seat, heart racing and palms sweating. He’s a mess and almost spills his drink twice. Eliot saved him from ruining the pristine looking tablecloth by steadying his wine glass just in time.

He was mortified.

The good news is that he survived dinner and the million questions Eliot’s family asked him in between many catch-up stories for Eliot’s sake, with way too many unfamiliar names for Quentin to keep track of.

They are now sitting on the couch, talking over a glass of wine (and some juice for Eliot’s sister). Eliot’s arm is resting on the back of the couch and Quentin is doing his best not to melt into it. Which is something he’s  _ technically allowed _ to do, right?

He looks at Eliot, who’s currently laughing at something his brother is saying, and, shit, he totally zoned out just now and missed the whole thing.

Eliot seems to realize Quentin’s getting lost in his head again and looks his way. His laughing smile shrinks into a softer version, though just as captivating, and his hand reaches out to play with the hair at the nape of Quentin’s neck.

It completely disharms him and he’s sure Eliot knows it. There’s a knowing look in his eyes. The wine isn’t helping either, and he’s powerless to stop the contented sigh that escapes his throat when Eliot scratches against the skin of his neck. Quentin’s eyes fall closed of their own accord.

“They’re so whipped,” he hears Eliot’s brother tell his girlfriend. It also manages to break the spell and they both reluctantly pull away.

“Aw, you ruined it,” she says in response.

Quentin looks down, twirling the glass in his hands and focusing extra hard not to spill it on the carpet.

“I just want you to know,” Eliot’s sister starts, “that I know from personal experience that the walls in this house are actually quite thick.”

“Oh god,” Quentin mumbles into his hands as he hides his reddening face from view. He feels the rumble of Eliot’s laughter when he pulls Quentin against his chest.

“You’re scaring him. And, consequently, also killing any mood whatsoever.”

This is pure hell. Why did Quentin agree to any of this?

Eliot’s arms curl around him, pulling him closer.

Right.  _ That’s  _ why. Because of his stupid infatuation. He’s so fucking weak when it comes to Eliot.

“I’m calling it a night,” he hears Eliot’s mother say.

He pulls his face away from Eliot’s chest to look at his family properly. He sits in silence as, one by one, they pick up their glasses from the table and get up.

His friend doesn’t move, though, so neither does he.

“Goodnight, lovebirds,” Eliot’s brother says. Eliot throws a pillow at him.

“Fuck off,” he adds. His brother laughs and leaves the room.

He hears the glasses clinking in the sink and then their feet going up the stairs. Then it’s just his stupid stumbling heart and Eliot’s deep and calm breathing.

“I think that last glass of wine was a mistake,” he confesses.

Eliot huffs. “Why, Coldwater? Do you feel your inhibitions slowly disappear?”

His playful and almost flirty tone does inexplicable things to him. He pulls back for his own sake.

“We should go to bed.”

Eliot’s eyebrows raise at that.

“Oh? That’s very forward of you. Who knew a couple of glasses of good wine would bring out this side of you.”

He slaps Eliot’s arm, which makes him laugh. Quentin rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch, stretching.

“You know very well what I mean, you pervert.”

“Hmm.”

The silence that follows makes Quentin look back at his friend, still tucked into a corner of the couch, looking him up and down and lighting a fire in Quentin.

“I don’t know, Coldwater. Your mouth says one thing, but your body keeps tempting me. And I’m not known for my self-restraint.”

“Eliot, oh god. I’m leaving.”

He almost runs up the stairs, the sound of Eliot’s laughter following him. He stops when he reaches the top of the stairs, lost for a second. Then he remembers the room he was shown earlier that day where he and Eliot put down their bags.

Right. The room that used to be Eliot’s and only has one bed. Sounds great.

He groans and drags his feet until he’s inside. He sits down on the bed and removes his shoes and socks. He stands up again and removes his cardigan, placing it on the back of the chair at the corner of the room.

Quentin opens his bag and gets his pajama pants and his white t-shirt to get ready for bed. He places them on the bed and starts unbuttoning the shirt he somehow had decided would be a good choice to impress Eliot’s family. The family who thinks they have an actual relationship. The people he’s been lying to since he first set eyes on them.  _ Oh god. _

This whole fake relationship is messing with him. He needs that cold water realization that this is all meaningless and he needs to put up his walls again before he hurts himself. He can’t have a repeat performance of that dizzying locked gaze with Eliot. He might do something he’ll only regret once they’re back.

He’s made it to the third button when Eliot walks into the room and closes the door behind him.

Quentin’s fingers slip like the mess he turns into under the attention of someone else -- especially someone like Eliot -- and he gulps. Eliot leans against the closed door and just  _ watches _ him. Ooooookay.

Quentin looks down again and manages to unbutton the rest of the shirt without embarrassing himself further. He can still feel Eliot’s heating gaze, though, but he does his best to ignore it. He starts to slip his shirt off his shoulders and remembers a little too late that he forgot to unbutton his sleeves.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters to himself and tries to undo his mistake while keeping his uncoordinated brain from letting him trip all over himself.

“Let me,” he hears Eliot’s deep quiet voice, which,  _ hello _ .

He looks up from his struggle to find Eliot standing much closer than he was only seconds ago. He holds Quentin’s left wrist first and quickly unbuttons his shirt’s cuff, moving swiftly to the next one and doing the same.

Quentin is aware that he’s standing there, dumbly looking at Eliot’s stupid handsome face, but he’s gonna blame the alcohol for this one, because he’s a sucker like that. Eliot’s eyes meet his, only a few inches away. Quentin feels Eliot’s hands slip under his wrinkled mess of a shirt, fingers curling over his shoulders momentarily, to softly push the fabric off Quentin’s shoulders and down his back.

The temperature rises and Quentin swallows. Eliot gets even closer as his hands slide down Quentin’s arms. Quentin feels the shirt fall at his feet, but he’s frozen in place. Only his fingertips flutter like an uncertain butterfly. Should he touch him, grab him like he wants to, kiss him senseless? His heart is racing and he feels like he’ll pass out any second now from his increased breathing.

Eliot’s fingers slide back up his arms and Quentin shivers. Eliot licks his lips and his eyes stray to Quentin’s mouth only seconds before he feels Eliot’s thumb caressing his bottom lip.

Overwhelmed, he closes his eyes.  _ Fuck _ . What’s happening?

He feels Eliot pulling him in, his nose rubbing slightly against Quentin’s cheek as he tilts his head  _ just so _ . He’s close, he’s  _ so close _ .

But he just won’t take that last step and kiss Quentin, and that confuses him. He frowns and opens his eyes. He goes a little cross-eyed trying to look into Eliot’s hazel ones. He’s right there, still caressing Quentin tenderly, making him melt like a block of molding clay beneath his hot hands.

“What are we doing?” he wonders out loud.

“Tell me this isn’t fake,” Eliot whispers, and Quentin can feel his breath against his face, the low rumble of his voice making Quentin tremble like a small rippling wave has just hit him. He exhales.

“Tell me it’s not the wine,” he replies instead.

Eliot pulls back slightly and shakes his head. One of his hands moves down and grips the back of his neck.

“This didn’t really start today,” he confesses, sending Quentin's heart on a roller-coaster of emotions.

It also boosts up his confidence and makes him feel a little bit bolder.

“I want you. But I want more than this, too,” he murmurs, unconsciously gravitating towards the taller man.

Eliot leans down again and lets their foreheads meet. He nods and Quentin’s heart races inside his chest.

“Me too.”

At that, Quentin grows tired of the endless slow burn and pushes forward until their lips meet and melt together in a slow, deep kiss.

\---

Quentin inhales deeply and feels the hairs on his body raise as they brush against the soft sheets. There’s sunlight coming from the window and he stretches on the bed.

Is it possible to feel so tired but so content and mindlessly happy?

He buries his growing smile on Eliot’s pillow. Which…

Quentin opens his eyes and looks around. The bed is empty, but he hears conversation coming from downstairs. He pulls on his pajamas again and makes his way down to the kitchen.

No one notices him at first, but when Eliot turns around, dark robe flying around him and a coffee mug in hand, he stops mid-stride and beams at him.

“And a very good morning to you, sir,” he says, making Quentin roll his eyes and step into the kitchen.

He doesn’t complain when Eliot puts the mug down and pulls him in, all grabby hands and demanding lips. He lets himself get lost in it, shivering when Eliot’s fingernails scratch the back of his neck. He never should have let Eliot realize that that’s a weak spot of his. He tries to fight back by letting his own fingers dig into Eliot’s hips, which makes the taller man step even closer and deepening the kiss.

“Ahem,” Quentin hears from behind them and immediately pulls back, embarrassed for momentarily forgetting they weren’t alone here.

“I mean, not to be a complete cockblock and ruin true love and whatnot, but I’m trying to finish my toast here and watching my brother go to town on his boy only a few feet away from the breakfast table is a bit much,” Eliot’s sister teases and winks at them.

Eliot drops one last quick kiss to his lips before going back to grab his coffee mug.

“I made one for you, too,” he says and points Quentin in the direction of the other steaming mug on the kitchen counter.

He grabs it and sits down at the table next to Eliot, who immediately drops his arm around Quentin’s chair, fingers drawing meaningless patterns on the back of Quentin’s neck. And, okay, maybe he could get used to this.

Some minutes later, the whole family is in the kitchen. Eliot’s brother is the last one to arrive. He stops in the doorway and immediately locks in on Eliot and Quentin.

“Oh, good. We’re all here. So who’s gonna tell them they were totally oversold on the thickness of the house walls?”

This time Eliot can’t stop Quentin from spilling his coffee all over the table.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://wordsputtopaper.tumblr.com/). I'm open to thoughts, feelings, suggestions and even prompts when the mood strikes.  
> I'm always open for hugs and new friends.


End file.
